Watcher
by emeraldteardrops
Summary: Some things you never can get away from. Oneshot.


A/N Not really sure where this one came from. :)

**Watcher**

I've been watching them ever since they entered the room. I didn't mean to…really I didn't. I try my best to stay out of things. I don't want to be involved in others. I don't care. I don't want to care. But sometimes I can't help but notice, and I had been watching this particular drama for weeks now.

He bowed politely to the hostess when he was greeted, and she followed at a respectful distance when they were led a table. He bowed again in thanks before he sat down. Nothing new. Nothing different. Nothing that mattered. I couldn't look away.

He ordered tea and drank it without sweetening it. His lip twitched at the first bitter drop but he followed the first with a second. The second with a third. She didn't order. Instead she sits quite still, her hands folded in her lap politely. Her long red hair is pulled back out of her face and she seems sad. He doesn't look at her; of course he doesn't look at her. Instead he stares at the tea cup. If he has anything he wants to say to her, it doesn't show. His jaw is clamped shut. She wants to talk…has the look of one that has spoken until her throat was sore. But when words fall on deaf ears, eventually only silence remains.

She turns and sees me watching. Recognition in her eyes and a small nod of greeting. I nod back. She leans over and rests a slim hand on one of the man's. He shivers and pulls away. She sighs as she rises from the chair and makes her way to my booth. She walks gracefully, and I find my eyes traveling down to her hips as she moves. She slips down next to me. Her brow is furrowed as her eyes return to the man that she was with.

"I've tried to get him to listen to me," she says with a deep sorrow in her voice. Confiding in me like we're old friends. Maybe we are. "I've tried to explain. But he's in his own world and he doesn't understand. He can be so stubborn sometimes."

"Maybe he's just not ready to hear it," I suggest, wondering why I'm allowing myself to be involved. I hate to be involved. Is it so wrong to just be left alone? But she looks so worried, and her big pretty eyes glisten.

"He doesn't have a choice," she tells me, her voice hardening. "There's so much more we have to do…that _he_ has to do. He can't just sit here like this, like nothing matters anymore. You know he does this all the time. It's not good for him."

She expects me to say something. To validate her. I don't want to, but she turns those eyes on me and I cave. But I don't intend on placating her. We've argued before about this, about him. She wants me to intercede and I won't. I just won't.

"It may not be good for him," I acknowledge, "But you can't tell a man what to do. And you certainly can't tell him how to feel."

She snorts and rolls her eyes.

"It seems lately I can't tell him much at all. I think he's _trying_ to ignore me."

"Probably," I say cheekily. "You can be pretty vocal when you are unhappy. I'd ignore you too if I were him, since you always seem to be unhappy with him."

I get a well deserved glare which erodes into other sigh. She continues to watch him glumly, crossing her long legs as she settles back in the seat. I try not to stare…she's quite attractive. But that doesn't make it right. Especially when he's just a few booths away, looking so damn miserable behind that stoic exterior.

"What should I do?" she asks quietly. I shrug. I'm not good with these kinds of things. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Could you, maybe…" she starts but I put my hands up. No way. Uh huh. Not getting in between two people like this. They have to work out their own problems. I tell her that. She is a redhead. When her temper flares, it flares bright.

"Well he's not even talking to me!" she snaps, rising up. "How the hell am I supposed to work things out if we can't even-"

Her voice stops, she's spoken with too much heat. His head turns and he looks our way, curious for a brief moment. They stare at each other, a moment, a flicker. Then he turns away, pain now raw in his eyes. He sets his cup down too hard with shaking hands. It rattles the table and makes the other customers nearby look up at him.

"Just leave me alone," he mutters to himself, rubbing reddened eyes with rough calloused palms. "Please, just…leave me alone."

How long have I known her? A day? A week? Forever? Too long it feels. I know she's going to start screaming even before her mouth opens. I know she can't take that from him, being shut out like that. She doesn't care who's around. She's hurting too, and it's all for him. She stalks over to their table and stands before him, fists on her hips.

"That's it!" she cries, eyes flashing. She looks magnificent when she's angry. A beauty to behold. Pretty scary too. "That's it! Enough! How long are you going to sit here, drowning yourself in your sorrow? Just go to a bar, get shit-faced, beat someone up, and get over it! This isn't you! Get angry, dammit! Break things! Scream and yell and fight and move on! We have so many people counting on us! You can't just curl up in a ball and quit! No one else quit! Do you think they aren't hurting too? But they still are out there, doing everything they can! Get up and fight! Help them before someone else gets killed, before you lose everything that you care about---"

"SHUT UP!" he roars suddenly, face white and body trembling violently. He hurls his tea cup across the room, towards me. Porcelain smashes on the tile floor, shattered pieces of a whole bleeding for all the world to see. I hate symbolism. It's so poignant yet so trite. It scares her and she jumps back as he stands. The restaurant has gone quiet. They all stare at the man at the table, who clutches the solid wood and fights back tears.

"Enough," he whispers, head bowed. He doesn't look at her, only grips the wood until amazingly enough it splinters beneath his hands. So strong…but so close to breaking.

"Are you alright sir?" a nervous waitress asks. He doesn't reply, merely shoves a bill in her hand and stalks out of the restaurant. I hate being involved. I try very hard to keep to myself. But the red head is crying openly now and maybe just this once I should at least say something. Cursing at myself I follow his retreating form. He dashes towards an intersection and I hurry to catch up.

In the middle of the street he wheels around, somehow knowing I was behind him. Bright eyes blink rapidly as he turns on me. He is intimidating close up. He radiates a power that is abnormal. I'm already regretting this. He closes in and grabs my collar, pulling me forward. His voice is a harsh thing, raw and broken, drowning out the honking cars.

"Make her stop," he growls, even as the tears slip downwards. "Please, just make her stop."

I don't understand for one long scary moment. But then as the anger slips out and the self loathing replaces it, I suddenly do. He looks over my shoulder, at her, she's right behind me. Longing beyond any I've ever known…He knows she's there. He's known all along. He gathers himself and looks full in her face, as if memorizing her features for one last time.

"I'm trying," he whispers, voice cracking. "God, I'm…I'm trying. So please, please just leave me alone."

He releases me, sucks in a tight breath, and turns away. It's the hardest thing he's ever done before. But he can't take it anymore, her whispers in the night, phantom touches against his skin, always there but never really there. Haunting his thoughts, haunting his dreams, haunting his waking hours, but never ever letting him go. Maybe he could see her too. Maybe not. I hoped not for him.

This is why I don't get involved. It hurts too much to be involved. I'd rather not care. But I do as he asked. I turn around to tell her but she's not there. She's done what he's asked, and there's only me. I like it better that way. I slowly return to the restaurant, trying to shake the incident from my bones. I focus on anything else. I never paid my bill before rushing out. I settle down at my table once more. Someone sits down next to me. They were waiting patiently for me.

They always are.


End file.
